


Real

by Roguefemme



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 14:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roguefemme/pseuds/Roguefemme
Summary: Out there it was all an act, all for the show. But once they were alone, they could be real.





	Real

  
    One last strike, a spray of blood, and District 12's second tribute was dead. Effie stood with her hand pressed to her lipsticked mouth, but Haymitch just sat staring at the now-blank screen before him, his expression unchanged. Then he pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the table before him.  
  
    "If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to bed," he announced airily, and began threading his way through the crowd toward the door.  
  
    "At least take a _bath_ first," Effie said with a huff that was almost convincing.  
  
    Haymitch whirled to face her (only losing his balance slightly in the process), but rather than the insult which those listening expected, he tossed off a jaunty salute to her, and then made his exit. In his wake Effie sighed, made her goodbyes to the others in the room, and then made her own way toward the elevator.  
  
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
    Once in the suite Haymitch dragged himself into the shower, and stood under the spray for several minutes before beginning his ablutions. Once he wouldn't have bothered - nights like this would have called for several bottles of the hardest booze he could find and then a long drunken sleep. But Effie told him to take a bath, and unlike most of her orders, this was one he obeyed. It was worth it.  
  
    He and Effie had never agreed to the code, it just sort of happened. Like what it it referred to had just happened once years ago, and then happened again, and then became habit (Coping? Avoidance? He'd stopped trying to figure it out.)  
  
    When he got out of the shower he pulled on a pair of pajama pants over his still damp body and went to peruse the liquor cabinet, still rubbing at his hair with the towel. He tossed aside the towel and made his selection, with unusual restraint taking out just one bottle from the cabinet.  
  
    Then he settled down to wait.  
  
  
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
    Effie stepped out from her own shower and as she pulled on a robe she tried not to look in the mirror. Times like this were when she least liked seeing herself: no makeup, no false eyelashes, no elaborate wigs, no colorful clothes. Just a robe enveloping a woman stripped down. How could she be bright and cheerful Effie without them?  
  
    And yet...  
  
    She slipped from her room and down the corridor, even though the only ones who might see her weren't likely to tell anyway. Somehow the sneaking was part of... whatever this was. She'd given up trying to quantify it.  
  
    Haymitch's door was unlocked, and she slipped in without knocking.  
  
    "Well hello there, sweetheart." Haymitch sat on the bed bare-chested with a half empty liquor bottle on the nightstand beside him. Somehow despite all the years of sloth and boozing, he'd managed to keep nicely muscular with only a slight softening at the waist, and despite everything Effie felt her body respond to the sight of him. His eyes roamed over her satin-wrapped form before meeting hers again, and unusually, the liquor wasn't the cause of his smile.  
  
    "I really thought he might win," Effie confessed softly, tears clouding her eyes.  
  
    "I know, sweetheart," Haymitch responded, his smile fading, and rose from the bed, approached, and looped his arm around her waist to pull her gently closer. "I know."  
  
    She readily stepped into his embrace, hiding her face in his bare shoulder for a moment like a frightened child. "Sometimes I hate what I do," she whispered so softly he could barely hear her. He turned his head to kiss her temple.  
  
    "Me too," he whispered, and smoothed his hand down the satin covering her back. "You wanna forget, for tonight?"  
  
    He already knew the answer, of course, but he was giving her a last chance to back out gracefully. Under the booze-soaked cynic, Effie thought, Haymitch Abernathy was a genuinely decent man. It was a shame that he kept it buried so effectively most of the time.  
  
    "Yes. Yes, I do," Effie said, and buried her fingers in his hair to pull their faces closer.  
  
    "Then let's," he muttered and bent down to meet her kiss.  
  
  
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
    As she lay curled in his arms later, Effie realized that she and Haymitch had been doing this for years now. She'd had Capitol lovers, but they never seemed to last long. Somehow once the clothes came off and the makeup got smeared it all seemed pointless, even unpleasant. They didn't like seeing her that way and she reciprocated the distaste.  
  
    Effie didn't like seeing herself like this either, without her makeup or bright clothes or any of her Capitol trappings. But Haymitch liked her best this way.  
  
_"You look real," he'd told her once, prompting a huff from her._  
  
_"I look like a district woman."_  
  
_"Same thing," he shrugged that off. "Y'look better without all the fripparies. Like a woman instead of a store fashion dummy."_  
  
_"I don't dress to please you," she sniffed with the best haughtiness she could summon while naked._  
  
_"You don't gotta dress to please me, darlin'," he'd purred with a flirtatious smile. "You just get_ un _dressed and that'll please me plenty."_  
  
_She'd gone red in the face, he'd leaned over to kiss her, and there had been little talk for some time after that._

  
    Effie rested her cheek on his shoulder, stretched her arm across his chest, and sighed. "Do you think we'll ever have a victor?"  
  
    "Maybe," he responded, but she knew he was only being kind and didn't really believe it.  
  
    "Maybe next year," she offered, and he nodded.  
  
    Tomorrow morning they'd be back in their roles, sniping at each other and convincing people they had no use for each other.  
  
    But for tonight they could be together; they could be caring. Tonight they could be real.  
    

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Hunger Games fic, so I'm open to polite constructive criticism.


End file.
